branches reaching to the sky,
hearing the laughter of the children
lost in days gone by.
Thinking how they use to play,
it heaves a heavy sigh.
Longing to bring them back once more,
knowing that it's futile to even try.
They sat and told of funny tales
and things that happened by and by.
They spoke of things so hard to hear,
things that often made them cry.
Longing for those happy days,
it stares as cars go by,
and prays to God in His heaven above,
to please, just let him peacefully die.
Copyright February 1996 Laura Miske
